Something's Gotta Give
by VampirePam
Summary: Barry Allen is excited for his first date with Oliver Queen. There's only one problem: Oliver thinks it's a job interview. Canon AU, pre-Flash.


Light streams through the large street-facing windows, filling the restaurant with an inviting glow. Steel and wood intertwine around every corner - classic hipster enviro-punk aesthetic. Not that the surroundings matter. Barry would have coffee on the moon for a date with Oliver Queen.

Heck, he's still pinching himself. Felicity deserves one hell of a fruit basket for setting it up - filling Oliver full of stories about him. "I've heard a lot of great things about you, Barry," is how Barry remembered him putting it.

Barry still doesn't know what she said, but when they ran into each other at a Justice Department fundraiser a few weeks ago, Oliver Queen - gorgeous, perfect, genius billionaire Oliver Queen - had _actually_ asked him out. Specifically, had asked him to "grab coffee" and discuss a "position he had in mind." Barry had spent several sleepless nights wondering about that one.

Back in the present, Barry is trying to shake off his nerves. _Deep breath, Bar. You can do this._ Carefully smoothing the front of his jacket (coffee date - don't go too formal, but you'd better look nice), he begins to scan the coffee shop for Oliver. It doesn't take long. You want to find Oliver Queen, you just follow the crowds.

Barry winds through the mass of admirers, politely (but firmly) shoving aside men and women alike. To his relief, Oliver catches his eye and politely encourages the others to move on. "Barry!" His smile is blinding as he extends his hand. _Huh, handshake. Classy, casual. I can do that._ He ignores the Iris in his head laughing her ass off.

"Sorry about that." They sit, and Oliver signals the waiter over. "It was bad enough before I died. Now they're unstoppable."

"Don't worry about it," Barry says. He's still going for casual, but is fairly certain the huge grin gives him away.

"So, would you like something to drink first, or should we get down to it?" Oliver takes a sip from his own mug of frothing cappuccino. _Get down to_ _ **it**_ _? Like in the bathroom? He can't mean that...can he?_ Barry's heart skips several consecutive beats.

"C-Coffee. Coffee would be good." Barry swallows hard and buries his face in the menu. He doesn't remove it until the waiter returns, looking expectant. "Yeah, um, I guess - w-what's good here?"

"He'll have the London Fog," Oliver commands, with a contained smile for the waiter. "It's their specialty. You'll love it."

Barry is kicking himself for not doing more research. He'd covered every angle of Oliver's company and past history, but had neglected the topic of coffee. _Amateur mistake._

"So, Barry." Oliver extracts a yellow legal pad and pen from his briefcase and lays them on the table in front of him. Barry's eyes widen, but he keeps smiling. _What are those for? Is this what it's like dating a billionaire?_ "How do you like being a crime scene analyst?" Oliver poises the pen in readiness.

Barry swallows, hard. _Good God, is he going to write this down? He's hot, just go with it._ "I, um, well, I love it. Working with Joe is great, and I feel like I'm making a real difference. What about you? Is running Queen Consolidated everything you thought it'd be?"

Oliver looks surprised. The pen wavers, then drops. "It's definitely a challenge. I'd be lying if I said that I rose to it all the time. But knowing that I can carry on my family's legacy...well, it gets me through the hard times."

Barry is so transfixed by the tiny bits of guard Oliver's letting down that he nearly puts his elbow in the coffee the waiter has discretely placed on the corner of the table. "It must be hard, though, having so much responsibility on your shoulders."

Oliver's regards him carefully. "It can be. Not as hard as losing both of your parents at an early age. That must have been hard. How would you say that's changed you?"

Barry's wishing that he'd made it an Irish London Fog (geographic impossibility aside); he feels way too sober for that particular conversation. "Wow. I, uh, well..."

"If it's too personal, you don't have to answer. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Oliver's sketching something on the pad, and Barry springs into action.

"No, it's okay." He takes a deep breath, then barrels on. "It was hard - really hard. Not an easy way to grow up, being the kid with the dead mom and the killer dad, especially when you'll fight anyone who puts it like that. It taught me a lot of things, for better and worse, but mostly? It taught me how to survive."

"Well put." Oliver takes another sip of his cappuccino, inscrutable as ever. Barry wants more than anything to know what going on in his head. This has to be the strangest date he's ever been on, but despite the legal pad, he can't say he isn't enjoying himself.

"You must have questions as well," Oliver says finally. "Especially since mine have been so blunt. I understand if you're questioning whether or not this is a good fit."

"No!" Barry blurts out. Carefully, he slides his hand over the table to rest on top of Oliver's. "I won't lie - it's been a little more intense than I was anticipating, but I'm having a great time. Honest."

Oliver's eyes flick between Barry and their joined hands, but he doesn't pull his hand away. "So...should I take this as a 'yes' to the job?"

"Job?" Barry's mind scrolls frantically through the possibilities. _Blow? Hand? Oh God, he can't think I'm a prostitute._ The smile freezes on his face. His hand creeps back and wraps itself around his cup of (tragically non alcoholic) coffee.

"No need to be coy, Barry." The incisive Queen grin returns, and Barry is powerless against it. "Felicity showed me your resume. Very impressive. I would have offered you the position when we met last week, but I insist on interviewing all prospective hires for my team personally."

"Interviewing?" Though aware that his half of the conversation has devolved into a series of squeaked out question, Barry is too preoccupied by his growing terror to care. _Oh God. Oh God. Not a date. An_ _ **interview.**_ _I've just held hands with my prospective boss. I've fantasized about having sex,_ _ **inventive**_ _sex with my prospective boss. Just kill me now._

"Never been a fan of the formal interview." Oliver's still grinning - at least he's _amused_ by Barry's horrendous behavior. "Easier to lie in a penthouse office. Make a man let his guard down, you find out what he's really made of."

"And you're okay with what...I'm...made of?" _Why did I ask that? I don't want the answer._ Barry's just about to fabricate a totally implausible when Oliver replies.

"Loyalty, first and foremost." Oliver's eyes are boring through his head, and Barry feels like he's in that recurring nightmare about going to school stark naked. "There's nothing you won't do for the people you care about. Passion, too, and grit. You _care_ about your work, and you don't give up when things get hard."

Oliver rips the top page off the legal pad, folds it, and puts it in his jacket pocket. Then, with a flourish, he writes a number in sloping, bold strokes across the remaining page and slides it over to Barry. "Here's the my initial offer - consulting only for the first three months. If it suits us both after that, we can discuss making it a permanent position."

Throwing a twenty onto the table, Oliver rises, brushes by Barry's shoulder. To Barry's surprise, he leans down to whisper, "If you like the idea of working under me, Barry Allen, give me a call," before disappearing into a new crowd of admirers.

As soon as he sees Oliver's distinctive profile pass by the window, Barry shoves back his chair and retreats to a quiet corner of the coffee shop. It's only two rings before Felicity's excited voice peals out, "Barry! How did the interview go? Did Oliver like you?"

"Interview?" he demands frantically, "Interview? So you knew about this?" Feeling a little faint, he drops into a nearby chair.

"Do you...not remember the part where I set this up for you?" Felicity sounds perplexed. "We spent an hour on the phone last night deciding what you were going to wear. Are you feeling all right?"

"No, I'm not feeling all right, Felicity!" Barry hears the hysteria in his voice, but can't push it away. "Because I just went on a job interview with Oliver Freaking Queen that I spent acting like it was a date!"

"A date!" There's a long pause, during which Barry hears concealed snickering from the other end of the line. "Barry, you _didn't!"_

"Of course I did! A gorgeous man in a tuxedo asks me out to coffee to discuss a potential position - oh, I see what I did there. Yeah, no, now that I'm looking back, it makes more sense the other way."

"Did you, um..." Felicity trails off, apparently unable to decide which bit of his humiliation warranted asking about first.

"Tell him my whole sad story in the first five minutes? Delicately graze his hand with mine? Nearly agree to have filthy, inappropriate sex with him in the bathroom? Yes, yes, and yes, Felicity!"

"No, get the job! Did you get the job?" A laugh, then another pause. "Wait...he didn't _ask_ you to have sex with him in the bathroom... _did_ he?"

"Of course not!" _Don't think about it - the click of the door locking, Oliver pushing you up against the wall, I said_ _ **don't**_ _think about it!_ "And yes! Er, in reverse order. No to the sex, yes to the job."

"Well, congratulations, then!" Felicity's voice snaps him from what's left of his reverie. "You'll be working at Queen Consolidated, with me, with Oliver! Aren't you excited?"

 _With Oliver. Fantasy-fuel, entourage-having, coffee-ordering, perfect,_ _ **perfect**_ _Oliver. "_ So excited." Barry lies. "I'm sure it's going to be great."


End file.
